


Count Your Blessings Not Your Flaws

by FizzyBee



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 8th Horcrux, 8th Years, Absent Harry, Age Difference, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Biting, Blood supremacy/Old world views, Blow Jobs, Bonding, Cuddling, Draco only knows he's part Veela, Dramione Focus, Dubious Consent, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Evil Ron Weasley, Explicit Consent, Explicit Language, F/M, Falling In Love, Family Reunions, First Kiss, Flashbacks, Fluff, Frottage, Horcruxes, Hurt Hermione, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, Inter-House Friendships, Inter-House Relationships, Inter-House Unity, Internal Monologue, Knotting, Love Confessions, Magical Contract, Marking, Mild Racism, Mutual Interest, Oral Sex, Post-Second War with Voldemort, Promises, Revenge, Revenge Sex, Ron Weasley Bashing, Ron is more dangerous than one might think, Sex Magic, Sleepy Cuddles, Snark, The Weasleys agree that Ron is a prat, The one she loved all along, Time for an awkward family reunion, True Love, Under the Influence of Horcruxes, Useless Adults, Veela Draco Malfoy, Voldy's Back, Werewolf Draco Malfoy, Werewolves are A/B/O
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-21 23:07:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9570872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FizzyBee/pseuds/FizzyBee
Summary: Ron was a prat. There wasn't much more that could be added to that, other than a few choice expletives.Hermione had always been know as a genius, so it should have come as no surprise that a solution was on the imminent horizon. To the person asking nor to the person agreeing. Either way, Draco was happy.Things spiral out of control when it turns out that Ron isn't entirely incompetent, though.





	1. The Agreement

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written anything in a horrendously long time, but at the start of this year I realised that birthdays were coming up, and for one particular friend whose taste in fanfiction I had rigorously questioned out of her, I felt this might be a good present. There will be multiple chapters and not all of them will be ready in time for the big day, but I hope she enjoys it.

Mewling. She couldn’t believe she was mewling! Of course, she had known Malfoy was _experienced,_ that was why she had chosen him after all. _But, God Almighty!_ Bloody hell he was good.

The two parted. His hair greedily clung onto the morning light, dazzling her and worsening the brief spell of dizziness she was experiencing. Had he really _only_ kissed her? When her vision finally cleared to only a few prancing specks of white, she noticed he was smirking.

“Alright down there, Granger?” His voice curling in her ear didn’t help dim the increasing shivers of arousal. His thumb hadn’t stopped rubbing tenderly at the humming pulse at the base of her throat, even after his other hand released its refined grasp from her chin. That movement wasn’t helping dim the throbbing either.

His words finally made it through her lusty mist some seconds later, and she succeeded in jerking herself out of it. Mostly.

“You aren’t as bloody tall as you think you are, mister!” Her exclamation was met with a snort of laughter.

The two often brought up the topic height, however subtly, when aiming to get under each other’s skin - Draco’s mild insecurity that, even with his growth spurt, he had not managed to reach the glamorous poise of his father, and Hermione’s, well… continued absence of a spurt in any direction, meant that the topic was equally poisonous from either mouth and left them both no worse off, having relieved whatever tension had brought on the verbal attack with little harm done to either party.

In this instance, Hermione was still muttering about pompously towering snakes when she heard his reply.

“Tut, tut. Language now, Granger. Wouldn’t want our new Headmistress to be stunned into a heart attack because her precious, chaste, Gryffindor genius could cuss herself into the Navy.” His eyes glittered with false innocence which did nothing to hide the small jibes the two of them had been exchanging since they had found themselves suitably similar, as all friends initially did.

“I didn’t know you knew about the Navy!” Her tone had changed. It was enlightened now, full of pride for him. His knowledge of her muggle roots pushing her into a dimpled smile.

“I don’t learn what isn’t necessary.” He cut off. His answer was short, still touchy about Muggle Studies being a compulsory part of the curriculum now. It wasn’t that he held onto the ideas of the past (unlike _some_ people they both knew)... No, what irritated him to the point of pulling his own hair out was that they were learning irrelevant details whilst avoiding important information. Information which could have saved hundreds of lives if only it had been implemented years ago.

“It’s in the textbook as you would _certainly_ know, given how last night was the fifth time you’ve read it even though we’ve only been back a day.” Snark infused his belated continuation. But given that Hermione hadn’t been expecting him to be the one to bridge the awkward pause, she was thankful anyway.

It was something she found he was good at. Distilling their incompatibilities and chafing with humor and sarcasm. Just like he had not a minute before following their oral coupling.

Aaand now she was thinking about it. _Again._

At least this time she kept her eyes focused on his face rather than in a dreamy state of delirium. If pushed, she would bashfully admit that her gaze was locked onto his supple lips. _So very kissable._ No one was pushing her though, especially not Draco who, unbeknownst to her, was smiling down fondly into her locks, meaning that she was free to class this as an improvement, unchallenged.

“I was surprised you agreed to this if I’m honest, Draco” They had settled into their easy silence and as usual she was surprised by how calm she felt being the one to break it, even though the conversation starter indicated it would conclude the discussion which probably deserved her hesitance most of all. The ginger bastard deserved everything he got from her though. She had no time to worry when revenge was soon to be served.

She was knocked out of her reverie by a startling punched-out laugh heating her ear with warm breath.

“ _You’re_ surprised?” Draco asked incredulously.

“Well, yes! I mean it’s such an unusual request and given our history- even though we’ve been going on well as friends- it’s just it seemed as though you would- I mean that you might have-”

“Refused?” He finished calmly.

She indicated her agreement with his deduction with a steady but slow nod of her chin. The tip of it touched his resting wrist which caused him in turn to remove the lingering appendage. It was a shame, that.

“Hermione… If _you’re_ surprised, then I’m shocked into a coma.” He was grasping her shoulders now, vying for her attention, hoping to drill the message home.

“You’re- I don’t even know how to tell you this, but Ronald was damn lucky to have a girl as smart and are _stunning_ as you in his life and you are far, _far_ from being a buck-toothed, gangly little girl he dated out of pity.”

Awe filled Hermione’s thoughts. She didn’t really believe him fully, but his sentiments were burrowing into her and she was beginning to think it might be safe to trust his words. It was their friendship, after all, which had helped her take the first step in leaving Ron physically. Hopefully now he would help her sever their bond emotionally too.

The clock above their heads chimed 8 and Draco peered up to pout at it. He looked back down at the girl he never thought he’d have and pressed another kiss into her hairline. His hands slipped around her back and he embraced her softly, passing on his confidence and reassurance, before gripping her hand and leading her out to face the world by his side.


	2. The Pimply Prat

The Great Hall had never been in the habit of being quiet. Mostly because teenage upsets, pregnancy scares and pranking rarely hid in the shadows of silence. This morning was no different, perhaps it was even noisier with the presence of a whole other year group crowding around a table jack-knifed in between those of the four houses, but the 8th years who filled its benches shared a sense of tension which made the exterior sounds dull and the munching of food next to them echo stubbornly.

Or perhaps it was just that Ron’s incredible ability to eat a Giant’s portions had increased substantially since having to scavenge the previous year. Either way, for many reasons, but mostly due to the presence of this modern blood traitor, those students returning to retake their final year felt queasy, disgusted, and worried about the clash which would inevitably come in the next few minutes.

Blaise was perhaps the only one who was at least in part happy with the situation, as it meant his (hopefully) bride-to-be had dragged him to sit with the Gryffindors and as far away from her brother as possible. She was currently curled up at his side, trembling slightly but mostly calmed by his gentle petting.

Despite this though, Blaise could not entirely forget the horror which had dawned on him at the close of the holidays. His food tasted sour to think that his peer has nigh on raped Granger. _Hermione,_ he thought fiercely. He would extend any modicum of friendship he could to the poor girl, especially given that he and Ginny had been the only two informed of her alliance with Draco.

Alliance. It sounded cold, but Draco had been pining for the girl for years - disguising it with Mudblood, but protecting her from afar all the same. He only hoped Hermione didn’t hurt his best friend...

_Crash!_

Blaise turned around as the sudden smashing of metal plates against wood was followed by the squeaking of the heavy oak bench against the cool floor of the hall. Ginny also tensed but only shifted marginally to look behind her through the small gap between their shoulders. She was afraid. Ron may well have been her brother, but he was a _manic_. He could easily turn on others, even, or maybe especially, his sister. She has been the one to catch him in his crime after all.

Despite the revoking of title of Blood Traitors from the Weasley family, the flaming arsehole ought to keep it, he thought. The forgiveness of families who had chosen the wrong side but were willing to change was followed by a belief of inter-house unity and by the school-wide embrace of ancient pureblood morals. _Chivalry, gratitude, honour,_ to name just a few. These traits ought to belong to no house. Just like the slimy rat. He still thought Gryffindors how good (how on Earth!?), Slytherins were bad, and that his sister was a whorish hag for sleeping with the enemy.

Luna Lovegood who was now towering over the 8th year table, peering down to the isolated corner of one Mr Ron Weasley, evidently shared the same sentiments. She slipped out of her crevice, uttering not a word, and slipped towards the doors of the Great Hall, accompanied, for once, by the shocked silence of the lower years.

It was only Blaise’s sharp eyes which allowed him the privilege of seeing Luna grasp the delicate wrist of her waiting friend through the crack of the wood. A shimmering charm of strength glinting like a bangle to support Hermione in her absence.

Well, it proved Luna’s abilities as a seer, he supposed.


	3. A Fun and Quiet Morning. Not.

In his opinion, which he would voice without much prompting at all, Weasley was lucky to not only be walking free, but be walking at all. If Hermione had not been such a forgiving person, Ron Weasley would have been tortured with the most ghastly of curses, disembodied, and then turned in to suffer a Dementor’s Kiss. Hermione _was_ however forgiving, he reminded himself. Which was why he was not only alive, but also at Hogwarts, having suffered no form of punishment or reprimand.

Draco could have argued with his - girlfriend, now, wasn’t she? - and said that he was a risk to others. But he was honestly quite high on the thoughts that Hermione Granger was a dastardly little thing who would torture the man emotionally and hopefully, for Draco at least, leave him a mess who ruined his own life without anyone else having to so much as lift a finger.

The only downside was that this left them in the position of having to survive three meals a day in the company of the criminal. Which is where they were now, or were about to be.

Hermione had paused outside the daunting structure of the grandiose panels of oak. He turned to her and was about to lean down when the a loud noise escaped the chink in the wood causing him to freeze. His fingers tightened around hers in a small protective gesture. When the distinct sound of feminine heels clicking towards them began, Hermione relaxed whilst Draco tensed further. It was not be Ron approaching, clearly. But if the doors were opened Ron may well _see_.

His worries were abated when the chink only widened slightly and the gaunt features of Luna Lovegood snuck through the gap. She reached around his slightly shorter body and grasped Hermione’s free hand. The three of them all felt the thrill of protective magic settle over them and Hermione, _ever brave and strong Hermione,_ griped his fingers to the point of pain in stoic determination. Throwing a tight grin of thanks up to her friend, she pulled Draco forward, indicating that she was ready and that she would enter first. Ever brave and strong, _but never alone._ The two passed into the Great Hall linked together by their fingers, by a magical contract, but most importantly, by friendship.

Soon it was Hermione’s dainty feet clicking on the floor of the Great Hall.

Soon it was Hermione squeaking the bench backward.

Soon it was Hermione who was causing the echoing silence in the hall.

But as soon as food was apparated onto her plate, her right hand raising to hold her fork as a spoon, her left still entwined with Draco, Ron was upon them.

Red faced, acting as if drunk, he lunged forward, attempting to bypass the Slytherin to grasp Hermione by the shoulders in what would likely be a demonstration of him ‘shaking some sense into her.’

In was a pity for him that Draco’s arm had a habit to wrenching back to accidently hit weasels in the stomach. It was fortunate for Draco that this resulted in him vomiting his impossibly-large stomach’s worth of food out onto the floor rather than his head.

“Khaf- Blu-ghh!”

Various noises emanated from the rodent suffocating in his own gluttony. The younger years peered curiously over to watch the continuation of the drama unfold, the older ones, all too aware of the events, either continued eating in respectful disinterest or tensed, ready to help Hermione’s fight or flight, whichever she was driven to.

“Gah- You little-” Sneering enveloped Weasley’s tone. “Whore!” He exclaimed, as if pronouncing an unknown miracle and imparting knowledge on mere mortals who were below him.

Hermione, like Draco, believed a little elbow to the stomach wasn’t enough, and placed her own tight-angled blow with the jagged crease of arm to the previously uninjured region of his groin. It was certainly injured now. Such an attack had the unfortunate side effect of drawing brief sympathy from the entirety of the male population, but the swift slap across his ruddy cheek snapped them out of their unjustified compassion and turned their attention back to the scene at hand.

“What did you just call me?” She hissed out, her smarting hand being furled backwards for fear the madman would grasp out for it. Draco reached out for it gently instead, caressing it to comfort her, and pressing his lips openly against the chafing to sooth it. He would apply a balm to the redness liberally once in the privacy of their own rooms.

“I called you a whore ‘cause that’s what you bloody well are, aren’t you? Saying you’ll spend the rest of your life with me before deciding to shack up with this ferret over here? Always knew you weren’t being straight with me! Bet you were bedding all the snakes behind my back. Bet even the son of a whore over there who’s fucking my bitch of a sister enjoyed your company whilst we were still in school! I remember that little Slug Club of yours. Least you never laid a hand on Harry. I can trust _him_ . He’s my _friend_ after all.”

The last comment probably hurt most of all. But what had come before it had been no better, Draco mused. He knew he shouldn’t worry, but he couldn’t help it. He had been expecting Hermione to fire off in return, determined to kill fire with fire. But she didn’t. At first he feared it was because of her self-imposed censure regarding the rape. Would she be struck dumb when it was her moment to shine? Whilst the professors may have known, so long as Hermione didn’t admit to it they were unable to do more than look on solemnly and comply with her vengeance. Would her determination to choreograph the tragic end of her torturer fall at the first hurdle?

But Draco needn’t have worried. Fire was certainly not how anybody would have painted her response when it was revealed, though. It was cold, ice cold and it chilled to the bones of the perversely fascinated audience around them.

“Unlike _you_ , Ronald. I have never been unfaithful, nor have I ever spoken a word untrue with the intention of hurting others. I have not physically or emotionally _abused_ anyone and I love my _family_ and _friends_ who care deeply about me, including _Ginny Weasley and Harry Potter_ . I have never done anything deserving the title of Blood Traitor, but I most _certainly_ will enjoy enforcing my own brand of punishment on anyone deemed low enough to be one, for they are truly _the most vile people to have ever walked this Earth!_ ”

Hermione was not afraid. She was staring the crumbled figure straight in the eyes which were now bloodshot from anger and from his earlier suffocation. They darted around her face, as though searching for a flaw to target.

Whilst no longer choking, his body was still capable of stuttering rapidly enough to leave him short of breath as his mind locked onto the seemly most enraging word of Hermione’s brief monologue.

“Harry! Don’t you-” _Clearly_ , if the Boy-Who-Still-Hadn’t-Died was what the weasel focused on, the pathetic excuse for a wizard only cared about how Hermione’s absence affected his life, rather than her at all.

Hermione would change that, he was sure.

In fact, step one of operation ‘Make Ron miss Hermione as a person rather than a thing’ commenced with Draco being wrenched downwards with a slight “oof!” to meet Hermione’s gentle lips in an open-mouth exchange of breaths, with their tongues merging, their rhythms mingling and their minds melding into one, concerned only with their unity.

Their limbs began to tingle and Draco pulled apart their joined hands to reach up to her face, gentling their ravenous pace to a sweet reunion, his right hand tangled in her golden hair and his left twirling the little frizz at the base of her skull until she was preening in his hold.

This static they shared covered the buzz of magic which extended across their bodies in a tickling pulse, extending outwards to form a shield impenetrable to the ginger attacker attempting to grasp onto Hermione when they were both at their weakest.

It was the magic between them which distracted them from the saga which laid out behind them as Professor Snape, still limping and sore-jawed, approached the pathetic prat with a sneer a mile long before ‘accidentally’ casting a variety of mispronounced, body-modifying spells on the boy until he finally resolved to end his malign enjoyment with a simple “ _Stupefy._ ”

It was a while before the joined lovers parted. The two had not noticed when the students returned to their meals, shocked, disgusted or disappointed when the kissing did not turn more heated, not did they notice when they became the sole occupants of the Great Hall.

After a time though, necessity made itself known and Draco drew their kisses to a rarity before firmly parting and uttering softly, forehead to forehead, “My brave little warrior” with a proud and cheeky grin.

She pouted a playful moue in return, choosing to overlook the jibe in favour of acknowledging the praise.

“Lioness, mine,” he continued. “How about we return to our rooms? Our beds are more comfortable than these benches will ever be.”

Not nervous in the slightest, Hermione acquiesced, knowing that Draco Malfoy, no longer the arsehole from her 3rd year whose jaw she cracked with a brutal punch, would care for her and guide her sweetly, to a plane of relief and of pleasure.

The two stood and once again began walking hand in hand towards the rooms for Head Boy and Head Girl which they had received whilst the others, including Ronald Weasley, were housed far enough away, in the extended Prefects’ suite, where their budding love would not be heard.

The two were also very thankful _indeed_ that lessons would not be starting for another week.


	4. As Slowly As You Need

She was here with him. He knew he’d resolved not to let his thoughts go round in circles but god _damnit_ it, that was before he knew that this day would come. She was trembling against him: soft, aroused and trusting. It would have been so easy to indulge further than to mouth at her neck until many purple bruises bloomed starkly against her skin. It would have been so easy to take what he had wanted for so long. But he wouldn’t. She had offered herself to him and trusted him and even though blood was quickly becoming a scarcity for his brain, he would not take advantage of her.

He was as sure as he could be that he loved her, and he was determined to make her love him in return. So even though he knew she wasn’t a virgin, and even though she was keen to act rather than be static, he would not have sex- No! _Make love to her_ … until he believed that she would not regret it, and maybe just maybe, also would not leave.

He was drawn back to the present by her moans, light and with a caress as gentle as her fingertips. Her lips brushing the lobe of his ear before gently pulling it in her mouth to suck hedonistically at it, tugging and nibbling and worrying it to a blushing hue.

He couldn’t stop the groan from escaping his throat and was thankful that it didn’t scare her. Instead, she moved lower, aiming to outdo his worship of her neck with her own laving. It felt like love.

Edging his hand out to grasp her by the hip, he drew them closer, tilting his head back to accommodate her movements whilst running his other hand along the hemlines of her clothing, possessive yet gentle. His touch was full of happiness and he would imbue her with it.

Pulling her body with him, he shuffled backward. Her mouth drew back to be replaced by her cheek, nuzzling to keep contact, and Draco pulled them back onto his bed, his thighs wide, back against silk pillows, inviting her in.

She complied, murmuring “gosh” and “flipping hell” across puffs of breaths as she insinuated herself against his firm groin, aroused and hungry for more. She was surprised that she did not share the experience of trauma that victims often did. In fact, she felt almost unnatural for it. Perhaps it was because she was never truly engaged, just accepting, which made it easier to bear. Her only weakness was revealed when Draco began to tug at her blouse in a suggestion. She did not freeze. But she did pause.

Draco, of course, noticed.

“Hermione, we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, you know.” It was uttered softly.

She knew, of course she knew. She was afraid though. She wasn’t anything special, by her own measurements anyway, but she knew that the horrid bruises on her hips and the red spikes riveted along her body many well disgust her bed partner. After all, he had been enjoying his hold on her hips, but what would he think when he saw the ink-black imbedded into them? Would he want to cover them with his own marks or would he turn his back, suddenly aware that this was a terribly bad idea and walk away?

She wanted to be brave, but she had already endured a fitful morning. True, it had gone as well as could have been expected, her future seemingly without impediment, but she felt ready to enjoy the comfort Draco brought, rather than the possible discussion or even confrontation which may ensue by taking another step forward.

Making her choice, she drew his hands away from the edge of her blouse, pulling them up to caress her torso and outline her breasts before guiding them up to run along her collarbone and dip against her neck. His hands anchored back into her hair and pulled her down to regain her lips for a series of gentle and lazy kisses.

“Let’s keep the clothes on for today, okay?” She murmured.

“Of course,” he smiled back. His hands repeated their journey in reverse, massaging the open skin of her neck, drawing a purr past her lips, before planting them over her breasts. Murmuring sweet nothings into her neck, he gazed down at the covered globes of flesh as he swayed them from the left to the right. They skipped up when he tightened his grasp to paw at them more roughly, enjoying the tremor emanating from her core and revelling the quiet keening from deep within her. He wanted to hear it again.

She shifted to avoid losing sensation in her legs and Draco used the opportunity to reach down quickly and hoist her up by grasping her arse and lifting. She squeaked! The giggle which followed surprisingly didn’t dampen the mood but instead drew a fond smile to both their lips as Hermione helped her sensual Slytherin lower her onto his lap and wrap her legs around his waist to rub their crotches together.

“Hmm, this already feels better” drawled the blond.

“I bet it does, you oaf,” smarmed Hermione, wiggling her hips closer and drawing a low “Ugh” from Draco. He retaliated, clenching firmly around her buttocks and bucking up into the crease of her legs. Her moan was embarrassingly piqued and feathered out as he relaxed back into the mattress. Her head lolled forwards and she panted through the openings of his taut shirt, groaning softly and she tried to regain the friction which had sparked madness mere moments before. This drew chucking from Draco.

“Who knew this was all it would take to reduce the Gryffindor princes to speechlessness, _hmm_?”

“ _F-Fuck you, Malfoy--_ ” she panted, unable to stop gyrating over him.

He was fortunate to have enough control to question, “ _Malfoy_ now am I, eh? Even though I can do _this_ -” before rocking up into her once more, groping and teething down to her nipples, dampening her blouse and lacy bra until they became transparent and sucking greedily at first one, and then the other.

She quaked. She felt incredible. She was on _fire_. He was overwriting everything she thought she knew about sex and making it wonderful. She felt like a groaning puddle of arousal, somehow both pliant and taut with tension. She could feel white beginning to tinge her vision and when Draco took her into his mouth… even with the flimsy cloth between them she could still feel the heat of his breaths and the chill when he swapped sides. She felt it building. She was approaching the point of no return. If she hadn’t been in rapture she might have had the sense to warm him. But she couldn't. Not when she was experiencing her first orgasm at the hands of another. Not when her hips became frivolous in their attempts to seek out the friction from his hardness. And certainly not when it was already upon her and she was crumbling to pieces, keening softly into the air, whimpering under his mouth and finally sinking back down into his embrace, panting softly and perhaps even sobbing. She didn’t know, and he didn’t care. He was in a state of awe after all.

 _God she’s beautiful_ , he thought.

After a while, Hermione roused and clambered up once more to kiss Draco softly, forming open mouthed kisses with a sense of deeply-seated indulgence. She smirked lovingly against his jawline and whispered into his ear, “Your turn now, don’t you think mister?”

He gulped, ready to say she didn’t have to before she was easing herself down and spreading herself out to lie between his legs, her face drawing near to the apex of his thighs. _Christ!_ Could the image get any hotter?

“Y-you really don-” he scraped.

“I want to. I mean it. I really, _really_ want to.” She smirked up at his absent composure.

For all she was being clear in her consent, he still felt lost. What was she about to do? Nuzzle him through the folds of his tailored trousers? Palm him to completion? Or would she be daring and open him up to the comparative chill and plunge him between her lips? Surely not.

He should have know he would never be right, because just as he was denying the possibility, it grew to a probability as she lowered his fly, and then an absolute as she took in his flushed head and pressed a gentle kiss to the tip of his manhood, preening at his small hiss.

She bore down then, her lips stretching obscenely and _holy fuck_ ! His eyes rolled backwards, his body having never experienced a sensation as violently arousing as this. Head had always been good, but never had anyone taking him lower than halfway and never so abruptly! The change in temperature and the sensation of her wet mouth wrapped around him was drawing him to his end faster than anticipated. _Bloody gibbering hell._ He wasn’t going to last. He just wasn’t. He hadn’t thought Hermione would even consider doing this, but he thought surely he would at least have enough control to enjoy her gift if she did. Not this. He felt utterly ruined. Like the mouth which had driven him mad with wit was now driving him mad with arousal. _Buggering Merlin!_

She pulled up, considering whether to tease and provide Draco with some relief, or to finish him. She felt high from her orgasm and from the power she currently had over him, but she was beginning to feel sleepy as one inevitably did after orgasm. Release it was.

Her hands reached up to caress his bollocks, tilting them gently from one palm to the other, swearing to mimic the action with her mouth some other day. She felt his hands clench into the fabric gripping his thighs, reluctant to bury his hands in her hair. She peered up at him and gave a distinct nod as she rose to lave her tongue across his tip once more.

His hesitance was gone, her submission doing things for him he would have never imagined before. His fingers fought one another to be the first to wrap through the golden waterfall of her hair, each one pleased to have the smooth fabric of her tangled around it. He closed his eyes, he had to keep control. At least some of it. He wouldn’t pull her down on him. He would just hold her tightly. Yes, like this. This was perfect. He chanced it though, gulping and then prying his clenched eyes open to gasp down at the sign below him. Her eyes, swimming with unshed tears and her sore mouth being pierced by his manhood. This was it for him, surely.

“Hermione... _Hermione,_ _Hermione--_ ” he began to utter over and other again. His grip tightened further, and as she dropped down to bury herself into his thick thatch of hair, she swallowed.

And the world went white.

His legs spasmed, caging her further into the site her torturous deeds, his eyes tightened unbearably and his fingers finally pushed into her skull, keeping her planted. He couldn't breathe. He was pulling in air but he couldn’t exhale. He felt like a freight train crashing into a mountain with no brakes to speak of. The sense of relief was devouring him, the endorphin rush bringing him higher than he ever had before.

His panting finally extradited itself and he doubled over, shakily easing his love off him. He wanted to feel sorry to forcing her to swallow, but at least she didn’t have to taste it this way, he supposed.

Instead of being met with chastising, his mouth was engulfed by the mouth which had burst at the seams to pleasure him and his thoughts were dulled to a pleasant, rushing ache as he kissed her where she had willingly take him in. _It was magical._

She opened her mouth to speak but thought better of it, slipping into their joint bathroom to grab a cloth to tidy them up, before slipping into Draco’s bed. He mused how he would like it to soon become theirs. Into his warm and safe embrace, she drifted off to sleep and in the nest of her hair, he followed swiftly.


	5. Meanwhile, In the Hospital Wing

Ron was pissed. It was as simple as that.

What did that whore think she was doing?! She had no right to berate him like that! No right at all! She was his, how dare she seduce the fucking snake before his very eyes? He wasn’t lying when he said he knew she was sleeping around when she promised to always be there to warm his bed, Lavender had always told him so, after all.

It was a pity she had died. She was far prettier and far more willing to please him. Unlike that frigid bitch his mother liked. He would have rather had Lavender give birth to his fat-face children, but nooo. Miss Lavender Brown was pronounced dead having been hit with a spell aimed at the Gryffindor Golden Girl. He’d show them all how much her justice should have lain in that hissing green spell; how untrue her titles were. Soon they would all know just how stupid and evil she was. She was plotting against him right now! He’d show her not to mess with him... He’s seem weak and would beg to have her back in his arms and tell her he regretting being a little rough with her. And she’d fall for it. And what a fantastic day it would be!

His haggard breath stuttered out over his chin, the hospital bed quirking around his body, already rubbing sores. What a crap school Hogwarts had turned out to be following the death of the good old man, Dumbledore. He’d always remembered that Gryffindor was in fact the best house, and he never overlooked the evil deeds done by all those cunning Slytherins. Now even those useless Hufflepuffs were being swayed by new talks of ‘inter-house unity’. Maybe the stupid badgers would breed in that slimy pool of snakes and dumb them down so that the noble heroes of the world could finally catch them in their crimes.

Like Snape! It was obvious his injuries were fine! If he’s been sucking Voldemort’s cock down on his knees so long, surely a little bite from a snake like himself ought to do him no harm. If only Dumbledore had been there, he would have stopped the nonsense at once! He would have ripped the blond snake off his possession and returned her to his side, he would have expelled the ferret and had Snape imprisoned in Azkaban for torturing his students. But nooo, here he was is a bloody cot, being turned every few hours by the pathetic excuse of a school nurse, catching sight of himself in the magical mirrors scattered around the room. Snape must have had them placed there on purpose. They wouldn’t shut up and they were driving him insane! Their coquettish sniggering full of spite, just like Hermione’s surely was as it was exhaled into the neck of the carnivorous snake.

His hand clenched through the pain of a shattered elbow. For that matter, he had forgotten about his traitorous little sister. Maybe she ought to experience a little dose of pain too? She’d forgotten all about being chase to protect the Weasley honour too! She was also whoring herself out to a snake, and a black one at that! He was the son or a whore and he was converting his little sister to the grubby ways of the Slytherin house. He’d have both Malfoy’s and Zabini’s heads for their scheming. So _what_ if they couldn’t help it and it was simply in their nature? It just meant that they all had to be exterminated like the foul pests they were! Every last one of them! If not for the safety of the world, then for destroying his life - tearing it utterly to pieces. The two bitches and the vermin! It was the curly-haired wench who had sworn that he had to return to Hogwarts, but when he arrived and saw no trace of Harry, he had learned that she had manipulated him. _Him!_ And that he could have been living his life as an auror instead of wasting an entire year of it in this shit hole.

 _Oh, he’d have them good._ Hermione would cave first- or no! Ginny first… He’d use one to get the other, and then he’d turn the snakes on each other and they would bite each other’s throats out - how simply _deadly_ they could be.

Ron felt smug for the first time in hours. He may have been a number of things, but unlike what most people believed, he was not, in fact, stupid.


	6. Post-Campfire Promises to His Sleeping Beauty

Draco woke slick with sweat and a touch disorientated, disbelieving of the events which had taken place mere hours before.

Over the last few months, he had watched Hermione become duller and duller until the sparkle in her eyes was on the verge of being put out completely. He did not want to pry and was left desperate to act, but not knowing the cause of her grief.

Then one day things just changed. The weight she had been carrying seemed to have suddenly been displaced. Whilst she still fell into a heavy silence and would need prompting to give him her lovely smiles, they gradually regained the ground he felt they had lost.

When she had grown tense in the last week of the Summer holidays, he had grown deeply worried again. He feared that perhaps he was the one at fault. But she did not seem distant, her eyes no deeper than before. When she began to snap her head towards him whenever he spoke and started to find words failing her frequently when she opened her mouth to break the silence, he slowly grew to realise there was likely something she wished to share, but feared to do so. If it was his reaction which made her nervous he would ensure that she need not fear it. It took three days of gentle petting at her hair, light praise and many hours of platonic cuddling before his prompt for her to share was engaged, and Hermione, in a tone of humiliation, divulged the cold and emotionally abusive relationship she had been suffering though, and how it had culminated recently, pushing her to finally leave.

She had grasped at his lapels, trembling in an effort not to cry, begging him to recognise that if not for his support, she would not have been able to do it. Potter was in the distant end of Europe for his training and the Weasleys, despite the discovery of the truth having propelled them to her defence, were still part of the dangerous ground she did not wish to tread with the delicate matter of trust.

He told her he would do all he could for her and he meant every word of it.

He believed her earnest eyes had taken his words to hear.

What did not expect was her bold move. Although he really should have, he supposed. His very own little lioness. Proud, brave, beautiful.

Once the campfire had been extinguished at the evening welcoming of the first ever 8th years, the group had dispersed: some retuning to their prefect suites, others to the kitchens to quell their aching hunger following the failure of the marshmallow toasting, and Hermione and Draco back to their own rooms, her touch at his elbow soothing his earlier thoughts at having to suffer through the presence of the sadistic weasel until he had flounced off into the Forbidden Forest. Perhaps he had sensed the group’s mutual hatred, restrained only by their promise to Hermione not to act.

It was not like they had been told, by Draco or the Weasley family, but the fiery exchange which had left Hermione crying in the days before the departure of the Hogwarts train, and the distance between Ginny and her brother informed them of enough to know whose side to take.

It was as Draco moved to tuck his arm along her lower back to guide her out of the way of the brambles her twitching eyes had missed, that he yelped! It had stung slightly, but the shock of Hermione’s petite hand taking a zealous grope of his arse had stunned him into mad disbelief. The nervous energy which fluttered off her and she continued to walk ahead did little to assure him, but once he had drawn close enough to replace his hand at the base of her spine, she murmured, “Let’s talk inside,” which led him to believe his unbelievable construction of the past few seconds of his life.

She had murmured his name softly when she drew him through the door of her room, much as she was doing now, in her sleep, across his still clothed chest. He felt pride well inside him to think he inhabited not only her waking moments but also her dreams.

She had explained her desire to him softly and with a bashful sort of glee which Draco would never have been able to imagine if she had not demonstrated that it was possible. He wished to erase all traces of nervousness from her and offered to bind himself to her in an agreement. A magical contract. He did it out of selflessness, he told himself, and not because he wanted the promise of her being his, if only for a while.

_I, Draco Lucius Malfoy, hereby swear to give you my honour in acknowledging this agreement which passes between us now. I shall do my utmost to protect you, guide you, care for you. I shall impede any mal-intended attempts by Ronald Bilius Weasley on your person and I shall be your future partner in exacting revenge upon him: emotional, legal, physical. I shall take your hand as a partner in love and in lust and I shall unite our desires to see him tear himself apart. This I promise you, Hermione Jean Granger._

He could still remember the words exactly as they were spoken, with his intonations and pauses as clear as day. They were forever etched into his consciousness, as was her mirrored utterance in receiving his aid. Both proclamations were followed by a zip of lilac sparks racing up their joined arms, outstretching in their bonding. This was not an unbreakable vow. For what if she wished for them to part? He had been considerate. But it prevented Draco from harming her, which reassured him more than her, if the truth be told. No matter the consequences though. It was a firm bond, and as eager as her lips had been to embrace his in their first kiss, he had told her than he would give her the night to think upon things, and that he would soon embrace her come morning. Which he did.

He thought he should wake her now though, his reverie had faded and the clock would soon be chiming the hour to indicate supper. They could always ask the house elves nicely (they were still wary of his little kitten’s efforts with S.P.E.W.) to bring them some food later on, but he thought that perhaps she would enjoy the company of her friends, especially wise Luna who had saved them the anguish of true confrontation earlier this morning. The offensive rat was currently banished to the hospital wing, after all, and if luck was on their side, he would remain there, at least until their week of freedom was over. He would hate having to look over his shoulder constantly when he returned, but he wanted to in the very least enjoy true relaxation as he guided the focus of his attention through the first stages of a traditional Malfoy courtship. His father would have been proud.

As the golden phoenix swooped off the clock to make a total of 7 rounds, Hermione groaned and turned, burying herself further into him to avoid it’s garbled song. Loathe as he was to do it, he pressed soft kisses into her hairline and cajoled her into the world of the woken. His Sleeping Beauty whimpered and yawned in an adorable display, stretching her arms out, catching herself before a blush could appear in a token of their newly formed memories. Instead, she smiled kindly at him, twining their fingers together, and lapped out, “Dinner, then?”


	7. Gossip

There was peace and quiet, or as much peace and as quiet as hungry teenagers would ever allow. The tense atmosphere from earlier that day had abated, and gradually the famed inter-house couple murmured sleepily into the Great Hall. Some professors exchanged knowing looks and after a while, those with expressions of bemusement, turned to embody their shocked epiphanies.

Ginny had been welcomed to the 8th year table now that she felt safe to eat there. The two Lion-Snake couples faced one another, both having chosen porticos in the middle band of the table. Hermione looked sated, by Ginny’s judgement anyway, and Draco was smiling fondly with a smug twitch of his lips as he shared a grin with his house-mate.

This feeling of family, blood related or not, was what she had been missing in the recent months. Her head lolled against Blaise’s chest and she pecked at his collar before returning to her food. The two young women were both fortunate to have found such generous people to stand by them. As much as Ronald Weasley terrified her in her fitful sleep, she knew she could always turn to Blaise. The only pity was that he currently occupied the old Prefect dorms whilst she was bound to the 7th year chambers. Surely she could persuade McGonagall to allow her to stay with him? At least for a while. Her brother shouldn’t be returning for at least a week and the thought filled her with a fresh wave of confidence.

“Hey, ‘Mione,” she began, before extending a silencing charm around the two of them.

The older girl blinked towards her, surprised. It wore off quickly though, to be replaced with mock horror as her eyes widened in response to the slew of questions, far too filthy (although after consideration, tamer than what would follow in their next discussions) to ever be repeated by her.

“What did you do?”

“Did you enjoy it?”

“How big is he? I bet he’s carrying a honking hippogriff in there!”

“Did he play with your nipples?”

“Did he tease or did he give in straight away?”

“Did you touch him or did he touch you? Was it two-way or was it just one-sided and handsy?”

“What did he taste like? I want details! Salty? Musky? Blaise tastes prett-”

Hermione’s ever increasing blush did not appear to be reason enough for Ginny to stop, but as soon as Blaise’s private life was about to be revealed, she had the decency to strengthen her resolve and wandlessly bind Ginny’s tongue to the roof of her mouth, leaving her babbling nonsensically about size and girth.

“Ginny…” she gritted out. “As much as I love you dearly, I am not going to discuss such things with you whilst he’s sitting next to me and has his hand on my thigh! And at the dinner table no less! Maybe  _ later _ if you’re nice to me I just  _ might _ open up though... “

This drew a whine of glee from her friend which resulted in a crooked grin from the maned witch. “ _ And _ , whilst we’re on the subject! I might be willing to share, but  _ please _ , under  _ no  _ circumstances inform me about you ‘riding your black stallion around Snape’s potions classroom’ ever again.”

“That was only onc-” Ginny tried to argue, having been generously fred from her binding.

“Or,  _ anything _ of a sexual nature involving you and your lovely brute.”

Ginny pouted, wrapped her free arm around said brute. “You’re just jealous~,” she sing-songed.

“I may have been, but not any longer…”

The two of them caught each other's gaze and both reached down to grab at the arses of their valiant knights, looking innocently at one another as if nothing had happened. Nothing at all.

 

X--X--X

 

In their defence, the Slytherins had wanted to give their girls some privacy. Men didn’t want to know about some of the bibbly-bobblys that happened down near the hoo-haas and so they had grown used to tuning out girl talk. If the girls had put up a silencing charm, it would surely be because they were discussing some private matter or other, and heaven knows, even if it wasn’t, having each other as support could only be a good thing.

They were enjoying the feeling of warm witches, trusting and open, leaning into them. Draco with his hand on Hermione’s leg, petting in soft circles; Blaise with his fingers tickling Ginny’s hipbone.

Love had turned the cunning snakes dumb though. They couldn’t help forgetting the brave souls these women carried when they looked to sweet and humble in their embrace.

This was why they had not expected the surprise attack.

It was why they had unassumingly lifted their goblets in a silent “cheers!” to each other and taken a drink, believing a calm evening remained what fate had in store for them.

It was why, only logically, they were compelled to leave the Great Hall to the high-pitched, soothing giggles of their little wenches, when firm and preposterously arousing kneading led them to spew pumpkin juice from their mouths and onto each other. They glowered over a matching set of pouts as they trailed, sopping wet and smelling ridiculous, to clean their faces, change their robes, and reapply the thirty-two layers of magical styling product it required to hold their hair in a fashionable finish.

Their last thoughts were not about this however, but rather, a dull worry, calmed only by the knowledge that Luna’s wizened eyes kept watch over the victimised beauties from the head of the Ravenclaw table.


End file.
